Flashback-Traveling with the Pack-Open
Aug 28, 2012 13:32:43 GMT -5
Post by bob on Aug 28, 2012 13:32:43 GMT -5
((OOC: Though it can easily be just ended here, I wanted to leave the thread open in case anyone could justify a bot popping in here for a little extra fun. Time wise it's located near the end of the war, just before everything really starts going to scrap.))
"All I am saying is that Primes aren't as all together as bots think they are." These words were growled by a grizzled older fembot as the small band moved along the outskirts of Autobot territory. "Not that you'll ever see me at Megatron's side that is, but you can't trust bots with that kind of power." Her name was Crankdown and as any with a fair set of audios could tell, she had opinions about everything under the sun, her favorite topics tended to be about the two factions who constantly warred around them. "Don't you think you should knock that off while in Autobot lands?" One of the younger mechs asked, clearly tired of his elder's constantly active vocals, his question was regarded with a huff and an angry growl.
Following along some ways behind the main group was a sight that would give any bot pause, regardless of faction it was such an abnormal visual that it drew optics of those not used to it. Plodding along behind the other neutrals was a hulking Insectcion in his alt mode, skittering slowly across the ground. As the deadly warrior followed the more civilized bots, it was easy to spot a number of young sparklings either riding on the beetle like creature's back or swinging on the arching horn-cannon that grew out of his head. This was Bob, to date the only Insecticon who defected from the Swarm as a whole, even if by accident. He seemed to enjoy being used as a jungle gym and often gave out cooing chatters as he felt the young Cybertronians climbs about his armored hide.
Some months back, Bob had ended up following the group, treated as a predator at first they often shot at him and rushed the Insecticon off. But he just came back. After several times the little band just began to ignore him, at least until some of the more innocent, or dimwitted, members of the band began to feed Bob scraps of metal and energon. One of the children even gave him his odd name when one of the elders sang a lullaby to one of the more restless sparklings. Over the following days Bob became rather close to the children, though he largely ignored the adults until they were making music of some sort. Over time they began to phase out the Insecticon as well, other then chewing on bits of metal now and again he never really made a problem of himself and Bob kept the younglings busy.
So things slowly evolved to the point that Bob became the unofficial sitter of the group, keeping track of the sparklings and even protecting them if it comes to that. The Insecticon had never known such peace before, dimly he remembered the pair of bots who spared him and gave him the chance to find himself, though limited in mind and processor that memory was hardwired into him.
Away from the gripes of the elders and adorableness, Bob was in a sea of giggles and sharp cries of joy. It did his own spark good to be of use to the sparkings, even if these sounds were extremely disorganized, it was as good as any string of notes or weavings of a songstress to Bob's audios.
"All I am saying is that Primes aren't as all together as bots think they are." These words were growled by a grizzled older fembot as the small band moved along the outskirts of Autobot territory. "Not that you'll ever see me at Megatron's side that is, but you can't trust bots with that kind of power." Her name was Crankdown and as any with a fair set of audios could tell, she had opinions about everything under the sun, her favorite topics tended to be about the two factions who constantly warred around them. "Don't you think you should knock that off while in Autobot lands?" One of the younger mechs asked, clearly tired of his elder's constantly active vocals, his question was regarded with a huff and an angry growl.
Following along some ways behind the main group was a sight that would give any bot pause, regardless of faction it was such an abnormal visual that it drew optics of those not used to it. Plodding along behind the other neutrals was a hulking Insectcion in his alt mode, skittering slowly across the ground. As the deadly warrior followed the more civilized bots, it was easy to spot a number of young sparklings either riding on the beetle like creature's back or swinging on the arching horn-cannon that grew out of his head. This was Bob, to date the only Insecticon who defected from the Swarm as a whole, even if by accident. He seemed to enjoy being used as a jungle gym and often gave out cooing chatters as he felt the young Cybertronians climbs about his armored hide.
Some months back, Bob had ended up following the group, treated as a predator at first they often shot at him and rushed the Insecticon off. But he just came back. After several times the little band just began to ignore him, at least until some of the more innocent, or dimwitted, members of the band began to feed Bob scraps of metal and energon. One of the children even gave him his odd name when one of the elders sang a lullaby to one of the more restless sparklings. Over the following days Bob became rather close to the children, though he largely ignored the adults until they were making music of some sort. Over time they began to phase out the Insecticon as well, other then chewing on bits of metal now and again he never really made a problem of himself and Bob kept the younglings busy.
So things slowly evolved to the point that Bob became the unofficial sitter of the group, keeping track of the sparklings and even protecting them if it comes to that. The Insecticon had never known such peace before, dimly he remembered the pair of bots who spared him and gave him the chance to find himself, though limited in mind and processor that memory was hardwired into him.
Away from the gripes of the elders and adorableness, Bob was in a sea of giggles and sharp cries of joy. It did his own spark good to be of use to the sparkings, even if these sounds were extremely disorganized, it was as good as any string of notes or weavings of a songstress to Bob's audios.